


Trust A Fox

by kitsunesongs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always A Nogitsune!Stiles, BAMF Stiles, Gen, Magic!Stiles, Nogitsune!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunesongs/pseuds/kitsunesongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1943, a nogitsune makes a choice. Fifty odd years later, a boy is born dying, and the nogitsune makes another choice, and the repercussions ripple. </p>
<p>AlwaysANogitsune!Stiles Series Rewrite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_1943_

It had been a long time since it had been summoned.

As it hovered in the air above the limp, bloody form of the one who had summoned it – a thunder kitsune, if it was not mistaken – the nogitsune relished in the chaos that thrummed around it. In this form, it was purely spirit, and whilst it couldn’t interact as well as in its physical forms, there were benefits – such as being able to take on another’s body. It could sense the chaos and pain that echoed throughout the ether, trace the streams to where it was strongest – and soon, it would be able to cause even more pain.

The other fox had summoned it, called out in her pain and rage for kitsunetsuki – for revenge – and the nogitsune would grant her wish. The only question was, did it take the offered form for the thunder fox before it, or did it play a trick and take the kitsune’s dead lover? On the one hand, it did enjoy its tricks – and it would still be in the spirit of the pact the kitsune had called for. On the other, whilst it was capable of moving about in a dead body, a live one was certainly easier…

In the end, it wasn’t out of anything like sympathy that made the nogitsune choose the thunder kitsune. It was a simple matter of taste – after it had fulfilled the pact, it would have the host’s body to act in this world with, and it was fonder of the chaos to be caused with a beautiful woman’s body, then the terror of a burned and dead man’s. Smiling to itself, the spirit reached out, and took what was offered.

~~~

“These jokes are stupid.”

Standing, the nogitsune breathed in deep. It had been a while since it had had lungs.

“They’re not jokes idiot, they’re riddles. My girl back home loves them.”

The nogitsune smiled. It was rather fond of riddles too.

“What has a neck, but no head?”

“Your mother.”

“No, you idiot, a bott– what the hell is that?”

The two guards that were unloading the bodies turned as the saw the nogitsune standing there in Noshiko’s bloodstained body.

Relishing their shock and fear and disbelief, the nogitsune started towards them, movements slightly stiff and awkward for a moment, before settling as it got used to all the vagaries of being in a body again.

It was interrupted briefly by the shorter, riddle asking guard getting out his gun and firing at it, the force of the bullet forcing it back slightly.

As it got closer and closer to the blond, he shot more and more frantically, until the nogitsune, fed up, lifted him by the neck with one hand, and with the other used his own gun to shoot him several times, before slowly pacing towards where the other, darkhaired guard was frantically trying to start the truck.

“What has a neck, but no head?” it asked, before twisting the guards head around so his neck broke with a snap – then twisting it again, so hard his head came off completely. Looking down at the head, the nogitsune contemplated the horrified expression currently frozen on the guards face, relishing the last echoes of fear and pain.

“You, apparently.” It answered its own riddle, before tossing the head aside, and moving to the empty truck. The Nogitsune sat in the driver’s seat, taking a short moment to loosen the pins holding its host’s hair in the uncomfortable hairstyle, and another to grasp a jacket the smelt of gunpowder and photographs.

_Rhys…_ came the pained whisper of its host.

Putting the jacket on, the Nogitsune shook its hair out over its shoulders. Much better. It couldn’t stand being restrained, even by such small thing.

As it drove back to the internment camp, the Nogitsune listened to the whispers of its host.

_All of them…we’ll kill all of them, Rhys…the doctor, the guards – they won’t get away with what they did to you. We’re going to kill them all!_

The Nogitsune smiled to itself. Its host may have lived almost as long as it had, but it had clearly not learned some of the lessons burned into the nogitsune’s soul – like to be careful when making deals.

The thunder kitsune had made a pact with the Nogitsune – revenge on all those who had resulted in her lovers death, and the Nogitsune would fulfil its pact.

_How_ exactly it would fulfil the pact, and whether that would match up with the kitsune’s expectations…well, that wasn’t the nogitsune’s business, was it?

~~~

The people were running – like rats, desperate to avoid a cat.

The nogitsune dragged the katana that belonged to its host along the wall, sparks flying, as it stalked down the staircase towards its prey, relishing in the horror, fear and betrayal that wafted off them.

It was a good blade. The nogitsune would be keeping it after this was done.

“Noshiko!” cried one of the humans. “What are you… _why_ are you – stop, please stop!”

The nogitsune didn’t.

After so long in the void, the misery and chaos surrounding it were like an all you can eat buffet – the pain of those it was killing, the fear of those it was about to kill, the anguish and guilt and rage of the kitsune it was possessing, forced to watch as her own hands took innocent life…

It was _delicious._

_Why are you doing this?_ The thunder kitsune – what had that one human called it again? Oh yes, Noshiko – cried.

“I’m doing what you asked, Noshiko,” it purred, swiftly removing the blood from its sword. “I’m killing those who killed your lover – the doctor, who sold the medicine, the guards, who helped him, the people who rioted, and…”

It spun, swiftly block the claws that were coming towards its throat, smiling viciously at the wolf before it. “And the wolf, who lost her temper over a scratch, and set an innocent man on fire for it.”

The wolf flinched slightly at that, and the nogitsune took advantage, pressing back against the other creature. The wolf might have supernatural strength, but so did the nogitsune – and a sword was always better then claws.

Setting both hands on the hilt, the nogitsune pushed back, the wolf stumbling back, and in an instinctual movement for balance, threw her arms slightly wide.

It was a small opening, and only brief – but the nogitsune had lived a thousand years, when most of its kind barely lived past a hundred.

It took the opening, thrusting the sword into the werewolf’s sternum, and pushing her back until she was against the wall, the katana impaling her keeping her pinned there.

Stepping back, the Nogitsune admired the image. Satomi was attempting to pull the sword out, eyes glowing yellow. “Now now, we can’t have that,” the nogitsune tutted, before smiling viciously, and grabbing the wolf’s hands, slowly bending them away from the katana’s hilt – and continuing, until finally both her arms dislocated with a crack.

Satomi howled, Noshiko screamed silently, and the nogitsune smiled.

Leaning in closer to the captured werewolf, the nogitsune cocked its borrowed head, waterfall of dark hair falling over one shoulder. “Now, what to do with you.” It mused gleefully.

“I could test your healing – peal your skin off piece by piece, see how well it grows back. Or cut bits off – werewolves can’t regrow limbs, now can they…?”

Satomi said nothing, glaring at the nogitsune silently. Pouting, it rocked back on its feet.

“What, nothing to say? No ‘you’re never going to get away with this’?”

Finally, Satomi spoke. “I have nothing to say to you, _yako –_ I have something to say to Noshiko. I know she’s still there – I know she can hear me.”

The nogitsune tilted its head, curious.

“I’m sorry. I lost my temper – lost control – and a good man died from it.”

The nogitsune felt Noshiko flinch, inside it. _Rhys…_

“There is no excuse for what I did, and I except this as my rightful punishment – but Noshiko, I don’t blame you.”

Inside the nogitsune, Noshiko gave the equivalent of raising her head.

“I’m sorry you were put into such a position, that you summoned this thing – and I forgive you.”

 

_Satomi…_ murmured Noshiko, as the nogitsune narrowed its eyes. This wasn’t what it wanted – there was no chaos here, no strife or misery or pain. It had been enjoying Noshiko’s, pain and guilt. Forgiveness…it would have none of it.

So it smiled, teeth sharp. “That’s very touching, truly. It’s also given me an idea! I know _exactly_ what to do with you…”

It held up one of its hand – a hand with ghostly white fire curling around it.

“You’ll have to forgive me if it doesn’t take three days for you to die – I haven’t been able to summon it for a while, so I’m a bit out of practice.”

Satomi said nothing, merely meeting the nogitsune’s eyes with her own, still bright yellow ones.

Eyes narrowing, the nogitsune stepped closer. The wolf might be stoic now, but no one is stoic when they’re burning to death.

Lifting the hand with the fire, the nogitsune was contemplating where to start when Noshiko spoke.

_I would make a pact with you, cousin._

The nogitsune hesitated. “You have already made a pact with me – your body for revenge. I am fulfilling it.”

_I would make a new pact, one that would eclipse the old._

The nogitsune felt, despite itself, curious, and backed away slightly from the imprisoned woman stuck to the wall.

“What could you possibly offer me?”

_900 years of living. Of loving, and hating, of sorrow and joy – I’m pretty sure that’s enough to fill even you up, even if only for an instant._

The nogitsune took a deep breath. What Noshiko was offering – was essentially her soul. All her memories, her emotions – for a being that fed of what others felt, it was a feast the likes of which it had never known. But it meant Noshiko would essentially be dead – even if the nogitsune ever felt like leaving her body, she wouldn’t be able to reclaim it. An offer like that – there had to be a catch.

“In exchange for what?”

_The life of Satomi – and any other survivors, no matter their role in the death of Rhys. You leave here, and cause your chaos elsewhere._

The nogitsune thought about it for a moment – but what Noshiko was offering was too good, even at the cost of Satomi’s pain. It stepped back, pulling the katana out of the wolf, ignoring how she cried out in pain.

“I accept.”

_Very well – you have my permission, cousin. Eat your fill._

And the nogitsune did.

~~~~

_1995_

It had been a while since the nogitsune had been back here. Beacon Hills…the town was fittingly named. After accepting Noshiko’s pact, the Nogitsune had left Beacon Hills, enjoying the chance to cause chaos, to feed at will, to interact with the world, rather than the void – it had had fun.

It had had too much fun. Somehow, someone had realised what it was, and summoned Oni. And while it was certainly capable of dealing with a few of the little fireflies, there were several of them, each stronger then the last.

It needed to hide – hide so well that the Oni themselves wouldn’t be able to sniff it out, and whoever had discovered it thought the Oni had done their job, and killed it.

Luckily for the nogitsune, Beacon Hills was still a beacon – though some idiot had cut down the nemeton, there was still enough power echoing through the lay-lines that its presence was hidden enough for now. Not long enough to hide from the Oni and their master, but just long enough that it could find a better, longer-lasting, way to hide.

The nemeton was useful in another way, as well. Whilst the tree itself had been chopped down, the roots remained – and there was a basement around them. With some wards, to hide from sight and sound and smell, and to turn the unwary mind away, it would be a good hiding place for the nogitsune’s sword and Noshiko’s tails, until the nogitsune decided to come back for them.

Having set up those very wards, the nogitsune settled it’s body against the wall, with its katana placed lengthwise by its side, and the small chest where it kept the nine kaiken that were the form Noshiko’s tails took on its lap. It would miss this body – it had been able to cause so much chaos with it…

But, needs must.

Abandoning its host, the nogitsune left Noshiko’s mouth in the form of a fly, and, after pausing to check one last time that its wards were working, left the small basement in search of a new host.

Having already decided exactly how it was going to hide for the next several years, the nogitsune headed off in the direction of the nearest hospital.

Or rather, the nearest hospital’s maternity ward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skulk is the term for a group of foxes. Kochanie is a polish endearment.

_2004_

The walls of the Beacon Hills memorial hospital were dark and empty, as a small figure slipped quietly through them, heading for the long term care ward. The figure opened a door and slipped into the room beyond. A room occupied by one other figure – a woman, on a bed.

She was dark haired, and beautiful, but also pale and wan, with deep circles around her closed eyes, and gaunt, chapped lips.

Sitting down on the bed next to her, the boy closed his eyes and leaned in close, trying his best to block out the scent of hospital and sickness, and focus on the scent that was distinctly her _._

“Mother.” he whispered.

He could still remember the first time he’d seen her. When he had, in the form of a fly, slipped into the hospital all those years ago, and seen her standing over the form of a baby in an incubator, tears in her eyes. She’d watched that baby as though by keeping her eyes on him, she could force him to stay breathing – but the nogitsune had seen the child’s soul had already slipped free from the body, and known it was too late. At least, too late for her. For the nogitsune, it had been perfect – the baby had been dying due to an overdeveloped spark of magic, causing its soul to slip away, and only the human’s machines to keep it breathing. A body with magic, and without a soul – it had been perfect. That same magic that had killed the child could be used to hide the nogitsune, while the form would release it from suspicion. It would not even need to take on the host’s personality, as newborns didn’t have them.

That, Stiles mused, had been his first mistake.

See, Stiles was – and there was no way to put this finely – an asshole. Before he had been Stiles, when he had had no name, he had been even more of an asshole. Though personally, Stiles felt he’d had good reason for this.

Nogitsune are formed when a kitsune decides to no longer obey Inari, the Kitsune goddess. When they do this, they are stripped of body, of tails, of Skulk, and are cast out of the wilds and the fields into the Void, the eternal emptiness and the lands of the unwanted and the nameless. When you’re cast into the Void, the Void feeds on you, and you on it, and in doing so you become the opposite of a person. You’re always cold, and hungry, and in pain, and you can’t hold on to any sort of identity. He had spent a thousand years like that.

And then he had taken over the body of Claudia and John Stilinski’s son, and had been stuck hiding in a body that couldn’t talk, or walk, or really do anything but cry or poop for several months.

The nogitsune had been extremely frustrated, and had taken it out on Claudia, who was often the only one home during the day – and Claudia, who the Nogitsune had expected to react by turning away from it and leaving it to its own devises, had instead stayed.

Stayed, and loved him unconditionally.

By the time he’d realised that he was thinking of himself as ‘he’, instead of ‘it’ – that he was answering to the nickname ‘Stiles’ as if it was his – that he _cared_ about this woman, who accepted every part of him – it had been too late.

At first, the nogitsune couldn’t leave until it was sure it was no longer being hunted.

Now, Stiles wouldn’t leave even if he could.

Looking down at that dear, worn face, for the first time in centuries, Stiles regretted turning his back on Inari. Before he’d been Nogitsune, he’d been a celestial kitsune – able to heal. As a nogitsune he had strength and speed and power over darkness and emptiness and pain – but he couldn’t heal others.

Sighing, he lay down next to his mother on the bed, and buried his face in her chest. “I’m sorry.” He whispered bitterly. “I can’t do anything for you. All my powers, and I can’t heal you – I can’t even take away your pain.”

“That’s because there is no pain.”

The voice was softer than usual, slower, enunciating the words clearly – but undeniably Claudia’s.

Undeniably his mothers.

Stiles’ eyes flew open as he sat up sharply, looking down at his mother’s face.

She was smiling at him.

He froze. “How much did you hear?” he asked, voice shaky.

“All of it.” Claudia replied still smiling. Why was she still smiling?!

“Did you know, I used to call you my little miracle, in my head?” she asked. “Because of what happened when you were born. One moment dying, the next – poof! Healthy baby!”

Stiles swallowed uneasily.

“I’m not an idiot, kochanie.” She said. “I can tell when my baby is unusual – but you know what I decided, sitting in that hospital, praying to everyone and no one for my son to live? I decided that no matter what, I was going to love that little boy. And I did.” She reached out, and gripped his hand tightly. “You are my son. No matter what you are, you will always be my son. And I love you.”

Stiles simply stared, eyes wide, without words for the first time in centuries.

 

 

Claudia coughed, and shifted onto her side so as to better look at him, before continuing stubbornly. “Powers, you said. What sort of things can you do? Can you show me?”

 _I can cause pain, and chaos, and strife._ Stiles thought, but didn’t say. _I can feed of that pain and chaos, and gain more power, and then use that chaos to cause more pain. Somehow, he didn’t think Claudia would approve._

Instead, he reached out his hands in front of him, his left cupped over his right, and then slowly separated them. Inside, resting on his right hand, was a shiny white ball with a mother-of-pearl sheen.

Claudia gasped in delight. “It’s beautiful!”

Feeling a warm flush of delight at her joy, Stiles considered what else he could do to make her laugh.

Leaning forward slightly, he covered his left hand with his right this time, and when he drew the top hand away, what was in his remaining hand was another ball – not a solid one, but of fire.

Claudia’s eyes went wide as she reached out a hand as if to touch, before hesitating. “Will it burn me?”

“No.” Stiles smiled. His fox lanterns would only burn what he wanted them too, and he would never want to burn his mother.

Reassured, Claudia reached out and touched the small ball of fire, fingertips gently caressing it.

“It’s amazing.” She whispered.

“Look around.” Stiles whispered back.

When she did so, her eyes widened. She was no longer in the dreary hospital room, but in the middle of a clearing in a forest. The grass under her bed was soft and green and sweet smelling, whilst ancient trees grew around her so high she couldn’t see the tops.

“Better?” Stiles asked. “I know you hate the blandness of the hospital.”

“Much better.” Claudia said firmly, coughing slightly before turning over on her back, so as to see the sky. It was midnight blue, with the cold light of the stars the only luminescence.

“Illusions…fire…a ball – are you a kitsune, kochanie?” she asked softly.

Stiles hesitated.

“You did your research.” He answered.

“I wanted to know what you were...” Claudia replied, voice fading. She yawned, and settled deeper in her bed. “I’m sorry kochanie…I just can’t keep my eyes open…”

“It’s alright…you just rest.”

“You’ll take care of your father, won’t you dear? Take care of each other…and be good…”

Stiles nodded, even though she couldn’t see it anymore, and got up from her bed. He would need to get home before his father returned from his patrol.

Leaving the room, Stiles thought. His mother had given him her wishes – possibly her last wishes – and for everything she had done for him, of course he would obey them.

Take care of his father, easy. He could do that.

Be good…Well, it might take some effort to figure out what exactly ‘Good’ was, but he would figure it out. He was a thousand years old, after all – how hard could it be?


End file.
